


The Highest Room

by audreyhorn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: During Canon, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Sam, Return of the King, but also comforting frodo, evil frodo ?, hes got a ring fetish fueled by darkness maybe sue me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 16:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13978923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyhorn/pseuds/audreyhorn
Summary: *edited and added to chapter two heavily*So... this is basically a more intense version of what happens in the tower of Cirith Ungol in the books, because that shit was A Lot but Not Enough for my gay ass. The first few paragraphs as well as the last few are nearly directly from J.R.R. Tolkien, only edited for clarity and to keep it short. There are lines and brief passages from the text peppered in as well to make it feel more real because I do not claim to be able to mirror this writing style, especially with any smut involved lol. Pieces taken from rotk are cited in the final notes.Warning it's a Mess but a fun mess. as much angst and fluff as possible.





	1. Finding Frodo

Sam sat quietly in the stairway of the darkened tower. He awaited another sound from the orcs above him, staring at the ladder that led up to the highest room. He readied himself to leap up at any foul sound that may be cause for hope of Frodo’s salvation within.

Suddenly, an orc’s voice came floating faintly down, and then, there was a sound like the crack of a whip.

At that, rage blazed in Sam's heart to a sudden fury. He sprang up, ran, and went up the ladder like a cat. His head came out in the middle of the floor of a large round chamber. A red lamp hung from its roof; the westward window-slit was high and dark. Something was lying on the floor by the wall under the window, but over it a black orc-shape was straddled. It raised a whip a second time, but the blow never fell.

With a cry Sam leapt across the floor, Sting in hand. The orc wheeled round, but before it could make a move Sam slashed its whip-hand from its arm. Howling with pain and fear but desperate the orc charged head-down at him. Sam's next blow went wide, and thrown off his balance he fell backwards, clutching at the orc as it stumbled over him. Before he could scramble up he heard a cry and a thud. The orc in its wild haste had tripped on the ladder-head and fallen through the open trap-door. Sam gave no more thought to it. He ran to the figure huddled on the floor. It was his Frodo.

He was naked, lying as if in a swoon on a heap of filthy rags: his arm was flung up, shielding his head, and across his side there ran an ugly whip-weal.

'Frodo! Frodo, my dear!' cried Sam, tears almost blinding him. 'It's Sam, I've come!'

He sat down before Frodo, half lifting his master and holding him to his heaving chest. Frodo’s bare skin was clammy. The shadows of bones were pronounced along his pale torso. Sam was pained to gaze upon them. The growing welt left by the whip extended down onto his Master’s behind. ‘What’ve they done to you,’ he choked out.

Sam unclasped his grey cloak and cast it about Frodo's shoulders, holding him closely again at once when he was covered. Slowly, Frodo’s eyes opened. He felt cloth against his face, and a warm body moving beneath it. His hair was being pet. Warily, he looked up to see who this body belonged to. There was the face of his Sam, much dirtier than when he had last seen it.

'Am I still dreaming?' he muttered. 'But the other dreams were horrible.'

'You're not dreaming at all, Master,' said Sam. 'It's real. It's me. I've come.'

‘Oh, my Sam!’ said Frodo, clutching him desperately. 'There was an orc with a whip, what has happened? I cannot be awake and well… Oh Sam! But whether I sleep or no, to feel your touch is…”

Frodo trailed off into sobs, and wrapped his arms around Sam’s body. He buried his face in the shirt covering Sam’s soft stomach, fists clutching the fabric in the back. He dared not peer up at the face again for fear it would not be his Sam when he looked a second time.

Sam felt his shirt grow wet with tears against his skin. He lifted Frodo’s small head up, and kissed its reddened cheek. Frodo’s pained eyes were fixed on the thin window beside them, and the dark land outside. Sam ran his fingers through the sweaty curls on Frodo’s forehead.

‘I got that orc you saw Mr. Frodo. And right in the nick of time too, for he was windin’ up for another slash at you. And that’s the truth,” Sam wiped his eyes, and Frodo met their gaze.

‘I’d sooner take a hundred’s worth of those myself than hear one more crack for you, I swear it,” said Sam, and then smiling through his sniffles, tweaked Frodo’s delicate nose.

Frodo blinked at him. Sam smiled, and slowly kissed his cheek again. Sensing that no words would convince his Master of this reality, he placed his hand on Frodo’s shoulder and patiently continued to kiss along his fair face with great tenderness. He brought Frodo’s dirty hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle. A corner of Frodo’s mouth turned up a little at the sight.

Emboldened by this, Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo’s small cloaked figure and kissed his neck with greater passion, restraining himself still. He breathed heavily, and kissed around Frodo’s pointed ear. Frodo drew a sharp intake of breath, and moaned lightly. Then, Frodo shifted himself to sit between Sam’s legs and put his hands on Sam’s chest, gripping his shirt. Sam placed his hand on the back of Frodo’s curly head. Then, safely surrounded by Sam’s sturdy limbs, Frodo kissed him.

A surge of energy coursed through both of them as their lips pressed together hungrily. Their mouths moved together easily as the intensity grew. Sam’s hand closed and gently held a fistful of Frodo’s hair, and Frodo’s lithe body grew limp with desire and leaned greedily into Sam, then broke their embrace for a moment. 'I thought I was gone, Sam,' he said in a hushed tone, 'But you've come.'.

He kissed Sam again, leaning in so hungrily Sam nearly fell backwards. Then Sam's grip loosened, and he pulled away, crying.

Sam was silent for a while as Frodo stroked his hand. Finally, he spoke quietly. ’You were… stuck by that dreaded beast. It made you seem… dead Mr. Frodo… I thought you were dead too, then the orcs took you. I couldn't find you. For too long I couldn’t.’

'Well, you have now, Sam, dear Sam,' said Frodo, embracing him long, then taking his hand to kiss its sturdy knuckles. He finished at smiled at Sam.

‘Why, you’ve become like a knight in one of the old stories, my Samwise the Stouthearted,’ he said.

Sam looked up and wiped his eyes, speaking softly. ’The Gaffer told those types when I was a boy. Bilbo's always told him they’re just tales, not part of any lore, but he love's them, he does’ he said, then managed a smile. ‘I suppose old Bilbo’ll be surprised to learn of your becoming the real live princess of one.'

‘Yes, verily,’ answered Frodo, and when he laughed the sound rang all throughout the evil room, bringing a glow to Sam’s face and to the still air itself.

The two hobbits lay against each other then, and stayed like that for a while resting. Frodo fell asleep against Sam quickly, and his light breathing was a dear comfort. Sam felt that he could lay like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed. It was not enough for him to climb the tower and slay the dragon, he had still to save his dear Frodo.


	2. Mood Swings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright this one gets weird. i didnt think i had a thing for spit lmfao

Sam kissed his Master’s forehead. 'Come! Wake up Mr. Frodo!' he said, trying to sound as cheerful as he had when he drew back the curtains at Bag End on a summer's morning.

Frodo awoke. His pink glow had changed to a ghastly pallor while he slept. Visions of fire had passed under his eyelids in the dark chamber. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Sam stood before him. ’Come Mr. Frodo, we must get on with our journey then! Bit of a dangerous place up here to get friendly with you for long I’m afraid,’ said Sam, glancing at Sting laying on the floor half-unsheathed, unglowing.

Frodo did not move. His heart beat fast and he began to feel ill with stress, feeling he had forgotten something desperately important. Under the cloak, his hand crept slowly up his body to his chest, where it rested for a moment before frantically reaching for his neck. His own hand knew what he sought, though he only became aware himself when it began to claw his own chest. Sam walked round him, looking for orc costumes and paying him no mind. Frodo often lay long after he had been called, as he was not a lifelong labourer like Sam, used to being awake before the sun arrives.

Frodo felt a small screech form deep in his lungs and wanted desperately to let it escape, but instead he gathered this terrible energy and stood up with a start, throwing off the cloak. Grasping at his neck once more and finding nothing, he crashed to the floor with a terrible gasp and began to tear through the rags. Suddenly, Sam touched his shoulders from behind. ‘What’s happened, Mr. Frodo?’ he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

Frodo shook him off with a gesture and continued to rifle through the dirty pieces of cloth. ‘What’s happened?’ said Sam, shrilly now.

Casting the final rag aside with a horrible violence, Frodo turned around slowly to face Sam. He was crouching, thin and naked, surrounded by the filthy cloths on all sides.  He stared at Sam with great horror, a pitiful and ugly expression about his face.

'They've taken everything, Sam,' croaked Frodo. 'Everything I had. Do you understand? Everything!’ He was on his knees now, and cowering with bowed head, as his own words brought home to him the fullness of the disaster, and despair overwhelmed him.

'No, not everything, Mr. Frodo. And it hasn't failed, not yet. I took it, Mr. Frodo, begging your pardon. And I've kept it safe. It's round my neck now, and a terrible burden it is, too.' said Sam, and stepped hesitantly forward to console Frodo, but stopped as his Master spoke.

‘You mean to say… The Ring, Sam?’ he whispered, and his eyes grew, but a terrible fog remained. 

‘Y-yes sir, but I suppose you must take it back.'

Now it had come to it, Sam felt reluctant to give up the Ring and burden his master with it again.

'You've got it?' gasped Frodo. 'You've got it now?’

Sam moved his hand slowly to his chest, where the Ring lay on its chain hidden under his shirt. Seeing this small gesture, Frodo cried out and sprang upon him, knocking Sam backward, and sitting atop his stomach. Sam lay between Frodo's pale legs. He cried out in pain and tried to sit up, but Frodo quickly leaned down and began kissing his neck frantically and with force. He undid the top button of Sam's shirt. Sam writhed as he realized he'd landed on the fallen orc’s shorn hand. In response, Frodo held him down by the shoulders with a strength not shown before, and Sam could not move.

Sam was confused and hurt but felt an immense rush of blood as he was pinned down by his small Master, forced to submit to his will. Frodo began to lick sensually at the chain around Sam’s neck. Sam stiffened in spite of himself. ‘What’re you doing?’ he said desperately, straining not to moan. He did not know if this was a show of true affection and gratefulness, or if Frodo was playing like a foul beast might with its dinner.

Frodo said nothing, and began kissing and licking passionately down Sam’s neck. His breathing became laboured, almost hissing, as he licked Sam’s chest. 'No...' thought Sam, 'It must have been the Ring itself...'

As this thought entered Sam's head, Frodo shivered with bliss on top of him and held him down tighter. Frodo then raised his head and looked at Sam with eyes huge and flaming. Sam stared at his face. The Ring was held lightly between his teeth, the chain hanging off it still around Sam’s neck. Frodo was terribly beautiful to behold, and seemed lit from within by some evil flame. Sam grew in his pants at the sight of him, and Frodo, feeling this, began to grind his naked frame against the front of Sam’s pants.

Sam could not stifle a moan then. Behaviour like this in such a location was putting everything in peril, but Frodo had him for whatever he wished. He looked quickly to Sting's blade, and it did not glow. He bucked back through the fabric and looked down to see Frodo was fully erect, his penis laying on Sam's stomach, its tip leaking. Sam looked back into Frodo's blazing eyes and they burned into him.

Frodo leaned down closer to Sam's face, and bent one of his arms so that his elbow was on Sam's other shoulder and he could hold Sam down with only that arm. His blood flew fiery through his veins and he delighted to see Sam struggle in mind and body beneath him, cock straining to touch him. He trailed his newly free hand down between their bodies and Sam moaned loudly.

Sam hadn't received anything close to such pleasure for long before the Ephel Dúath, or even the arrival of Gollum. Frodo's burdens had grown too great, and his body too worn. Sam had often become stiff at the sight of Frodo's lazily exposed belly as he slept, or at times simply from Frodo's intelligent speech or lilting gait. He always hid his arousal from his Master, fearing Frodo would feel obliged to respond and thus tire himself even more. This is all to say he had waited long for release at the hands of Frodo.

'And what a soft hand it is,' thought Sam, as it found its way into his pants, loosening ties. Suddenly Sam rested hard against Frodo's skin. His Master held both penises in his small hand and stroked them gently as one. Frodo's eyes flickered and rolled back as his breathing grew deep and drawn out. He felt all-powerful and huge. He drooled all about the Ring now, and the wet dripped slow down his face and onto Sam, who whimpered and moaned at the array of sensations. Then, Frodo withdrew his hand from between them and slowly brought it to his face. It smelled deliciously of Sam's hot sweat. Beginning at his chin, he collected the drool from his skin in the palm of his dainty hand. He stared into Sam's eyes as he tilted his head down and, placing his upturned hand on Sam's chest, let a cascade of drool pass between his lips and over the Ring down into the hand.

Carefully bringing his dripping hand back to their aching members, Frodo stopped short of touching either. Sam writhed, and Frodo looked down at him with a most Machiavellian grin. He allowed Sam to grit his teeth with lust for a minute more, then grasped both cocks once again with his cold drenched hand. Sam moved beneath him like a serpent half caught under a stone. Frodo pushed down on him harder and stroked them both quickly now. His spit warmed easily, and soon became hot and pleasant. Their members slipped around in Frodo's hand easily until they ached and it pained both hobbits to hold on longer.

Sam groaned long, for he had never been pushed to such ecstasy, much less by a controlling Frodo. There would be no way of making this last. Frodo whimpered, eyes rolling back again, his lips now considering the Ring, and sucking it. Here, they could both handle no more. Sam came with loud grunts, long and hard all over himself and Frodo's hand. Frodo's eyes flitted down on this and he felt a rush of power and arousal, and he came with a high cry.

They stayed still for a moment. Frodo held the Ring now inside his mouth. The blaze in his eyes was like a deep ember now, waiting to be provoked. He closed them and hissed low to himself. 'My..." he trailed off.

Sam's breathing was easy. He looked up at Frodo and longed for him to lay aside him rather than sitting up strangely upon him. And was he muttering? He focused on Frodo's mouth, and the chain that came from within it.

If only… the Ring weren’t involved, he thought. To know it was held in the darkness of his Master's mouth stirred something unpleasant within him. It roused him, and whether driven by worry or a strange lust for it, he spoke in a low whisper. “The ring is very dangerous now… And very hard to bear, Master. I was thinking… I could share it with you, maybe?”

Frodo’s eyes flashed darkly and glared down at Sam. It felt as if he stared through Sam’s very eyes deep into the room below them. His tongue darted around his mouth, feeling the Ring. Then, he opened his mouth and spat, and the Ring tumbled down as he brought his slick hand from between their legs to catch it.

But the Ring was in Mordor heavier than any ring cast by man or beast before or since. Whilst catching it, Frodo's hand dropped onto Sam’s chest and thudded heavily, knocking the breath out of the hobbit like a well-landed punch. He lay wheezing under his Master.

'No!' cried Frodo, snatching his hand back up and pulling it closer to him. The chain pulled sharply at Sam's neck. 'No you won't, you thief! You plunderer!’ He panted, staring at Sam with eyes wide with fear and enmity, 'It's mine! Mine I say!'

Then suddenly, clasping the Ring in his clenched fist, he sat aghast, as if awoken from a dream by his own foul cries. A mist seemed to clear from his eyes, and he passed a hand over his aching brow and looked around. There was Sam laying under him, his face wrung with pain, as if he had been stabbed in the heart. Tears welled from his eyes.

'O Sam!' cried Frodo. 'What have I said? What have I done? Why, I've made a terrible mess of us both! Forgive me! After all you have done. It is the horrible power of the Ring. I wish it had never, never, been found. My poor Sam. My strong Sam, what have I done?’

Frodo cried as he wiped Sam’s tears away, still holding the ring tightly with his other hand. He looked at Sam's clothes, all covered in dirt, sweat, and their cum, and Frodo embraced him, breathing him in deeply. Sam smiled weakly as they separated.

‘Well, you’ve gotten mighty strong to be calling me that, for one thing,’ said Sam, leaning up on his elbows now and pulling the orc hand out from under his back.

‘My dear Sam,’ said Frodo, taking the chain from Sam’s neck, then walking to the cloak he had cast into the corner. He picked up some rags that lay atop it, and returning to Sam's side, cleaned him up, wiping him down as best he could. He then dragged a cloth along his own belly and dried off his sensitive soft member. Walking now to the corner again, he gathered his might and spoke again.

’I cannot let you bear the Ring. This journey is mine alone. Don't mind me anymore, Sam. I must carry the burden to the end. It can't be altered,’ he looked away, putting on the cloak. ’You can't come between me and this doom.'

'That's all right, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes and standing up. He spoke in a comforting tone. 'I understand. But I can still help, can't I? I've got to get you out of here. At once, see! But first you want some clothes and gear and then some food. The clothes will be the easiest part. As we're in Mordor, we'd best dress up Mordor-fashion; and anyway there isn't no choice. It'll have to be orc-stuff for us, Mr. Frodo, I'm afraid. And for me too. If we go together, we'd best match. Now I found this, put it all on you, we’ve wasted enough time as it is!’

He passed Frodo a bundle he had found before the frenzy. Frodo half-smiled at Sam, dearly grateful for his companion's loyalty. He then looked with dismay at the contents of the pack, but there was nothing for it: he had to put the things on, or go naked. There were long hairy breeches of some unclean beast-fell, and a tunic of dirty leather. He drew them on. Over the tunic went a coat of stout ring-mail, short for a full-sized orc, too long for Frodo and heavy. About it he clasped a belt, at which there hung a short sheath holding a broad-bladed stabbing-sword. Sam had found several orc-helmets. One of them fitted Frodo well enough, a black cap with iron rim, and iron hoops covered with leather upon which the evil Eye was painted in red above the beaklike nose-guard.

“Well, there you are, Mr. Frodo. A perfect little orc, if I may make so bold,’ said Sam, looking out from under his own bobbing orc helmet.

“You may, my perfect Sam,” said Frodo, and laughed.

And thus the two hobbits set off, hand in hand, on the last perilous leg of their long journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope u like corny endings fast tone changes and nothin but softcore. the hobbits are too pure i can only project on them so much. more heavy handed gollum/frodo parallels 2018.
> 
> sections and lines taken from Return of the King are as follows (many are edited lightly or heavily, some are untouched paragraphs)
> 
> \- At that rage blazed in Sam's heart (...) It's Sam I've come  
> \- Sam unclasped his grey cloak and cast it about Frodo's shoulders  
> \- 'Am I still dreaming?' he muttered. 'But the other dreams were horrible.'  
> \- 'You're not dreaming at all, Master,' said Sam. 'It's real. It's me. I've come.'  
> \- Samwise the Stouthearted (from Two Towers)  
> \- Sam felt that he could lay like that in endless happiness; but it was not allowed.  
> \- Sam kissed his Master’s forehead (...) on a summer's morning.  
> \- 'They've taken everything (...) burden it is, too.' said Sam.  
> \- ‘Y-yes sir, but I suppose (...) 'You've got it here?’  
> \- 'The ring is very dangerous now (...) sir, maybe?”  
> \- 'No!' cried Frodo, snatching (...) Sam, what have I done?’  
> \- ‘My dear Sam,’ (...) A perfect little orc, if I may make so bold,’ said Sam.


End file.
